


Carus Chiroptera

by AdriaKatrian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Creature Fic, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Moresomes, Multi, Polyamory, Powerful Harry, Slash, Slow Burn, Threesome - M/M/M, Twincest, Violence, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-04-21 06:55:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14279460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdriaKatrian/pseuds/AdriaKatrian
Summary: When Draco Malfoy becomes inexplicably drawn to a magically powerful, fleshy... something..., he doesn't know that he's about to be pulled into one of Harry Potter's "why me?" moments.  Potter is a Carus Chiroptera, which is a surprise to everyone involved.  Harry will drag Draco and the others lucky, or unlucky, enough to be connected to him into another world where they will learn that the line between light and dark isn't so clear.





	1. Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy strode confidently through Knockturn Alley, glaring at any miscreant who would dare sully his tailored black suit by getting too close.  A hag bowed low at his passing and the street urchins stopped their pocket picking as his pristine leather shoes clicked over the grimy, cobblestone street.  The weight of the Malfoy name and their well-known, but unconfirmed, ties to the Dark Lord caused all of the filth on the underbelly of the wizarding world to heed his passing and acknowledge the underprincling of the dark.  

A dark shop at the far end of the alley was his destination.  The proprietor had failed to pay last month and Draco was tasked with collecting.  Normally, Father would have sent a goon to negotiate, but sometimes it was good for business to let the maggots know you were taking a personal interest in their… digression.  It rallied them into compliance.

As he neared the store, a soft pop of apparition from down a nearby alleyway caught his attention.  While it wasn’t unusual for ne’er-do-wells to use the small spaces between buildings for a variety of illicit activities, what caught his attention was the soft whimper that accompanied the pop and, for some reason, made Draco’s purportedly nonexistent heart ache.  

He eyed the damp, mossy walls of the alley, just barely wider than his shoulders, until deciding he could edge through without sullying his suit coat.  At the end of the alley, he came to thing he couldn’t quite explain. It was just under a meter in diameter, with an undulating green pattern on its surface, which appeared to be flesh or a membrane of some sort.  He heard the whimper again, slightly louder this time and definitely coming from the flesh ball. Of their own accord, Draco’s fingers stretched out to caress the thing. He withdrew his hand mere centimeters from the surface, his Slytherin self-preservation kicking in and reminding him that touching mysterious, seemingly compulsion-creating things in the dark alleys of Knockturn was generally une idée mal.

It was swift wand work to erect the shields he’d seen his father use to handle volatile dark artefacts and apparate just inside the front gates of Malfoy Manor, his prior task left undone and forgotten in the space between shops.  Despite his burning curiosity, he walked at the same stately pace he’d used in Knockturn; it wouldn’t do for anyone to see him rushing, especially his mother. 

“Milly,” he demanded.  With a pop, his personal house elf appeared, scurrying to keep up with his longer-legged pace.  

“What can Milly do for Master Draco?” She asked, almost tripping over the hem of her pillowcase when she attempted to bow while jogging along.  

“Is the large ritual room clear?”

“Yessir, Master Draco, it be clear.”

“Good, see that it remains that way.”

 

***

Two hours later, Lucius Malfoy knocked on the thick wooden door that lead to the ritual chamber. Upon hearing his son call, “Enter,” in a rather distracted fashion, he creaked open the door to find Draco staring intently at a fleshy oval. He twirled his wand while thinking, a sure sign that he was distracted enough to put away the cool Malfoy facade that had been bred into him. He circled around and Lucius noticed that he was muttering. With every mutter, the lump quivered and periodically Draco would stop and seemingly pull himself away forcefully.

Lucius cleared his throat. Draco didn't start, belying that he was perfectly aware of Lucius’ presence. In fact, he held a single finger up to his father indicating he should wait. A whimper came from Draco's throat at which the lump started moving more frantically. Draco followed it with a cooing sound which immediately relaxed the lump. On taking a closer look, Lucius was able to see the shimmer of his dark artifact wards and was instantly proud of his son. While most of the world thought of Draco as a spoiled heir, just waiting to inherit his father's fortune, the truth was that his son was a sophisticated young man with a penetrating mind. He hid most of his deep thoughts behind the icy Malfoy mask and allowed them to think what they would. Such assumptions seemed to bother Draco’s persona, but not the true man beneath.  Like a true Slytherin, he seemed to consider it simply a fact to be used to one's advantage.

Piercing grey eyes met his. “Father do you know what this is?”

“I have an inkling. Tell me. Can you hear it?”

“Yes, can't you?”

“No, I can't.  I could only hear the noises you were making.”

“How very strange. Can you feel it pulling?,” and then he mumbled to himself, “I can feel it.”

“No. If what I suspect is true, then there's a reason that you can hear it and I cannot.  I’ll need to research it before I’m certain.”

Draco hummed distractedly, staring back at the lump almost longingly.  “Let me know what you find.”

“Draco, I think you should come with me.”  Lucius was suddenly wary of leaving his son alone with the thing.

“What if it needs me?”

Lucius put a firm hand on Draco’s shoulder and started pushing him towards the door. “Then you’ll be better equipped to meet its needs if you’ve researched what we’re dealing with.”

Draco shook his head to clear it, then nodded to his father.  “Let’s begin, then.”

 

***

 

At two minutes to 6:00 PM, Narcissa Malfoy walked into the dining room and paused.  It was unusually empty. It was very unlike her husband and son to be late to a meal unless…

“Tippy!”

A older house elf popped into existence.  “Yes, Mistress?”

“Lucius wouldn’t happen to be in the library, would he?”

“Yes, Mistress, both Masters Malfoy be in the library.  They’s be piling up many books. Tippy be afraid the books will fall.”

“Thank you, Tippy.  Have dinner brought up to the library for them.”

Tippy bowed low, then disappeared.  

Narcissa settled herself into her place at the right hand of Lucius’ chair at the head of the table and took a sip of the red wine that filled her glass.  She smiled to herself. If Lucius hadn’t been under the thumb of Abraxas, bastard that he was, then he would’ve been a Ravenclaw. The man loved research. It was the only thing, other than herself, of course, that could distract him so fully that he forgot such trivial things like food and sleep.  It was also where he gained his extensive knowledge of the dark arts, that and family tradition, of course. That Draco had joined him in whatever research project they had delved into warmed her heart. Narcissa had noticed that Draco had become more withdrawn around his father, recently. Projects like this harkened back to Draco’s younger years when they would sit together for hours, researching and debating the size of a dragon’s magical core or which legends were embellishments and which were true.  While she was a bit curious what had snared their interest this time around, she knew they would resurface and extol on their project eventually. She ate her meal and enjoyed the silence.

 

***

 

Draco and Lucius were discussing their findings when Tippy appeared, agitated and hovering a full dinner behind him.  

“Masters be reading into dinner.  Mistress instructed Tippy to bring dinner here.”

“Ah, yes, put it on the end of the table,” Lucius said, waving his wand to move the stack of books out of the way.  Lucius smiled inwardly at the thoughtfulness of his wife, always making sure he was well cared for even when he didn’t have the foresight to do it himself.

“We’ve narrowed it down, then?” Draco asked.

“Yes,” Lucius stated around the stacks of books that were hovering toward safer locations.  “I think what we’re dealing with is a Chiroptera, but there isn’t a lot of information about them, even here.”

“The bat-creature from those old wives tales?  Weren’t those just made up to scare children?”

“A Chiroptera has a humanoid form and a batlike form and most of those old tales have a grain of truth in them.”

“So, if that’s a Chiroptera, then why does it look like a fleshy lump?”

“Maybe it is a form of protection?  The surface looked a bit like the patagium described in the book, so maybe it wrapped itself in its wings.”

“That could be,” Draco suddenly went stiff.  “I need to go down to it.”

“Why?  What happened?”

“I can feel it.  It’s in pain. It’s scared.  I’ve got to go to it.”

“I’ll come with you, but we must be careful.”

“Yes, father.”  Draco jumped up, not even his Malfoy decorum being enough to stop him from running to the ritual room three floors below in the basement.  

 

***

 

On reaching the ritual room, Draco moved up to the edge of the ward surrounding the fleshy creature.  He cooed in response to the pained whimpering, an instinctive need to comfort the creature overwhelming him.  A flick of his wand and the ward was down. His fingers reached out to touch the mottled, swirling green skin.

“Draco, no!” Lucius called out, having just arrived at the door behind his wayward son.  It was too late, though.

Draco saw brilliant white as power rushed through his body.  The power felt urgent and exploratory, but not harmful so he relaxed into it and waited.  It may’ve been seconds or hours, but the power finally subsided, leaking away back through his fingers and into its master until only a hint of the connection remained.  He opened his eyes to his father’s worried face inches from his.

“What were you thinking?  You know better than that.  What if it had…” Lucius stopped speaking as the fleshy lump began to uncurl from it’s winged prison.  

When the wings were fully open, Draco could see what looked like a young man with a few distinct differences.  The absence of shoes revealed elongated toes with hooked, green-tinged talons on the ends. Fleshy green wings connected to the pale, white skin of his back, twitching as though uncomfortable after holding the former position for so long.  His jeans were baggy, torn, and bloodstained while only shreds of what must’ve been a shirt clung to to his torso. Scars and wounds littered that torso and Draco felt an explicable surge of anger relating to them. Pointed ears and dark green horns poked out of messy black hair, but it was the brilliant green eyes with no sclera and the lightning bolt scar that made him stop breathing.

“Potter?” He asked after a moment.

“Malfoy?  Oh, bollocks.”  Potter muttered before promptly fainting away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** I'm not JK, I make no money from this.***

“Master Draco?”  Milly queried softly, reluctant to disturb her Master’s deep thoughts.  

He was staring intently at nothing from over steepled fingers, vaguely in the direction of the unconscious and odd-featured Potter lying prone in the guest bed.  He and his mother had bandaged Potter’s fresh wounds, but it was the older woulds, stubborn and pervasive, that held his attention and had his mother’s lips pursed.  

_ How had pampered Potter received the scars littering his body and why had no one healed them? _ He wondered.   _ And why was he so emaciated? _  Draco had heard of people who refused to eat for some reason.   _ Was that what Potter was doing? _

“Master Draco?” Milly called again.

He heard her this time.  “What, Milly?”

“There is a man shouting at the gate.”

Draco signed and walked the distance between the guest room and the gate, not hurrying and still trying to piece together the puzzle that resulted in an emaciated and bloodied Harry Potter turned Chiroptera in Knockturn Alley.  When he exited the front door, the man who’d been shouting, stopped and politely waited for Draco to make his stately journey to the gate.

The man was tallish, maybe in his thirties.  His brown hair was secured with a ribbon except for the strands freed by the wind that whipped around the manor’s wards.  Chocolate-brown eyes watched, measuring him.

“I’ve been informed that you’ve been yelling at my manor,” Draco began.

The corners of the man’s mouth tilted upward slightly before the grin disappeared.  “You look a bit young to be the Master of this manor. Is your father home, perhaps?”

“I’m Master enough for your purposes.  What do you want?” Draco was curt. This stranger had no right to question him.

“Well, to be invited in would be a start.  My business is not the sort to be conducted on a street corner.”

“I’m not inclined to admit into the manor persons of such low mental stability that they resort to shouting at manors.  You would also do well to state what type of creature you are.”

This time, the man really did grin, showing teeth a bit longer than was normal.  “Heh, smart boy. How did you know?”

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  It was unMalfoyish, but the comfort that the man exhibited in the presence of a Malfoy at the foot of Malfoy Manor annoyed him.  It didn’t help that the man continually referred to Draco’s age. “The wards will let wizards onto the front path and up to the front door to knock like civilized people.  Creatures are stopped at the gate unless accompanied by a Malfoy. You appear to be a civilized person and not just a lunatic who passes the time by yelling at random buildings, yet the wards do not allow you entrance, therefore, you must be a creature.”

“Can’t I be both?” The man smiled all too easily, now.

“Yes, but that won’t help your case.”  Draco crossed his arms and adopted a pose designed to indicate he was not amused and about to be quite finished with this conversation.  “So, what are you and what do you want?”

The man mirrored his pose.  “Fine, fine. I’m Nystul Sutherland.  I’m a Chiroptera and you’ve got my charge in there.”

Draco went still in a way that only a Malfoy knew how.  A Chiroptera. His mind wherred through the possibilities.   _ What was this man’s purpose?  His charge? Did that mean he was a guardian of some sort? Or was he charged with hunting Potter?  Potter certainly had plenty of people out for his blood. How had this guy known that Potter was here?  He must be able to track him, somehow. How do I even know that this man is a Chiroptera? _

The man appeared to be waiting for Draco to come to a decision.

“Prove it.”

“Well, I left my muggle ID card in my other suit.”  Draco’s eyebrow raised without his permission.  _ What in the name of Merlin is an ID card? _ The man kept talking.  “I know you have my charge because it is my job to know and you froze when I said you did.  It seems that you know a bit about Chiroptera because you didn’t accuse me of being a fairytale and likely, that would be because you suspect that the thing in your house is a Chiroptera.  Whatever your familiarity with my type is, it doesn’t include the knowledge that a Suasor would be showing up on your doorstep or you would have let me in already. As for the last…” Sutherland bared his teeth in what was just a bit too threatening to be a grin before burnt-orange horns began to rise from his temples, ears elongated into points, and the white sclera of his eyes turned that same burnt-orange and faded into his brown irises.  He preened for a moment before shrugging. His features snapped back to their wizardly form. “Now, may I come in?”

“No.  I still don’t trust your intentions.”

“Well, aren’t you a protective little mate?”  Sutherland muttered as much to himself as to Draco.

“Potter and I are not mates in any sense of the word,” Draco sneered.

Sutherland just hmm’d, clearly not believing Draco’s protestation.  “Okay, non-mate, can you do that freaky wizard trick where you read my mind so we can get on with this?”

“No, actually, I can’t.” Draco considered leaving it at that, but then sighed.  “Wait here.” 

He returned a few minutes later with his mother.  “This man requested to have legilimancy performed on him so that I will allow him in the manor.”

With no preamble, Narcissa raised her wand and cast the spell.  Draco watched the pair until Sutherland blinked and smiled.

“You were very… thorough… Madame.”

“Indeed,” was her only acknowledgement before turning to Draco.  “He’s clear, a bit twisted, but clear.” Then she apparated back to whatever she’d been doing.  

“Give me your wand,” Draco demanded.

“It seems I’ve left it with my muggle ID,” said Sutherland, showing empty palms.

Draco’s lip curled to show he was not amused and he figured that was Sutherland’s bizarre way of saying he didn’t have one.  He turned on his heel and began to walk away as the gate slid open smoothly, just enough that Sutherland could edge in. “Follow and don’t stray.  The manor dislikes wanderers.”

Nystul Sutherland hopped in before either the gate or the young blond could change their mind.

 

***

 

Nystul was used to overcoming the objections of worried family members.  It was part of his job as an Outseeker Suasor. This young wizard, though, smelled dangerous.  It was a heady, intoxicating scent. Most would be wary of such a scent, but it seemed to permeate the entire grounds and imposing, black-facade manor.  It did seem to swirl more heavily around the blond boy and his mother, though. He grinned to himself. If this wizard man-child was his charge’s mate, as Nystul suspected, then his charge would be safe and his covey would be a strong one.  A strong Carus with a strong covey was always an entertaining challenge. He could almost feel Alsa rolling her eyes and wondering why he couldn’t pick the easy ones. 

At a large, intricately carved, dark wood door, the young man turned quickly, eyes cold and hard.  His wand pointed at Nystul’s heart and a flash of steel revealed a knife in his off-hand. 

“You do anything I don’t like and I will kill you.”  The boy’s voice was remarkably calm and even for someone threatening murder.  

“So much for subtlety.”

“There should be no confusion: I will kill you.”

“Understood, non-mate.”  Nystul didn’t allow his great satisfaction and humor to show through.  It was no good antagonizing a dark, overprotective mate when they were so close to getting to his charge.  It amused him that this little mate probably didn’t even know why he was acting so protective.

The knife disappeared to wherever it had come from, but the wand stayed out.  The blond nodded once and unwarded the door. 

 

***

 

Harry woke up to the door clicking open.  He watched as Malfoy sauntered in, followed by a man he didn’t know.  He wanted to hide his hands in his face, but he was still too wary of the claws on his hands.  

“Try not to pass out, again, Potter,” Malfoy sneered.

“It was seeing your ugly face that shocked me into passing out, Malfoy.”  If anyone could take him from self-pitying to angry, it was the obnoxious aristocrat that settled in the armchair by the window.  

“If that’s all it takes to render you impotent, then I doubt you’ve ever actually faced the Dark Lord.  Has it all been lies, Potter?”

“No, you’re just a special kind of ugly, ferret face.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed as he settled himself into a chair by the window, “And you’re a special kind of stupid, scar head, insulting your benefactors.  More on point, though, this man claims to know something about your current... deformity.”

Harry turned to the other man, careful to keep Malfoy in his periphery, until the man shocked him by shifting into an orange-tinged version of whatever creature he himself had turned into.  

He could feel instincts that he didn’t know he had become fully alert, but they settled as he watched the man.  The man’s gaze was slightly off to one side, not looking down in submission, but not staring at him in a challenge, either.

“Good day, young sir.” When Harry said nothing, the man continued, apparently reassured that Harry hadn’t attacked him.  “My name is Nystul Sutherland. It seems that you’ve come into your inheritance early. I’m here to help you and your protective little coveymate.  I’m an Outseeker Suasor, which means I find Chiroptera like you who weren’t born into our community and help them integrate. I specialize in finding and helping people whose inheritance was forced out early.”

Harry’s mind had stopped.  He’d spent the first eleven years of his life hoping beyond hope that someone would take him away from the Dursleys.  Then Hagrid had appeared like a terrifying teddy bear of a fairy godmother with a pink umbrella and granted his wish. Then, he’d spent the next four years trying not to be killed by mad men who worshipped the ghost of an even madder man, at least until the bastard had returned in full a month and a half ago.  Now, a bat-person-thing was telling him that even his new reality was only scratching the surface of the strangeness of the world. He tried to put his head in his hands, but only succeeded in scratching his cheek with his wickedly sharp claws. 

Malfoy tensed and seemed to stop breathing.  He picked up his wand a murmured a healing charm before settling back into his armchair.  Harry shot him a look that was equal parts glare and gratitude, but Malfoy was not meeting Harry’s eyes.

“Mr. Potter?” Nystul queried.  “If you’d like, I can help you hide your traits, at least for a while.”

Harry nodded, too numb to do much else.  

“You’ll need to trust me.”  Nystul came slowly closer, put the pads of his index fingers behind Harry’s ears, and began to rub slowly.  “Close your eyes, relax, and try to think about what you looked like before your transformation. Breathe in.  Hold. Breathe out all the way. There you go.” Harry felt the weight on his shoulders readjust as his wings tucked away.  On opening his eyes, he saw that his claws had retracted, too. 

“I can see,” was the first thing that he finally said.

Nystul, who’d returned to his more human form, quirked an eyebrow.  “Did you think I was going to blind you?”

Malfoy snorted.  “No, Mr. Sutherland, Potter normally wears atrocious, thick glasses because he is as blind as a bat.”

“Ah, well, we bats aren’t as blind as you seem to think.  We have fantastic vision, supplemented by echolocation and, being crepusculars, our vision is unmatched at dawn and dusk.  Most senses tend to get better after the inheritance. Now, Mr. Potter, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Harry murmured.

“I know your instinct is telling you to hide injury and weakness, but you need to tell me if there is anything wrong.  I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Harry shot a side eye at Malfoy, then back at Nystul.  Malfoy caught the glance. “Merlin’s sake, Potter, if I was going to take advantage of your weakness, I would have killed you when you were unconscious.”

“Why  _ didn’t _ you kill me?”

“It would’ve been too easy.”

“So, you  _ are _ plotting to kill me.”

“You’re dense, Potter.  It’s called sarcasm.”

“Then why didn’t you kill me?”

“Are you asking me to?”

“No.  Damnit Malfoy, answer the question.”

Nystul interjected, “Are things so bad between you two that this is a legitimate concern?”

“YES!” They yelled at the interloper in unison.

“Oh,” Nystul looked back and forth between the boys.  “Well, now,  _ I’m  _ curious why you didn’t kill him.”

“It’s too much effort, but if you’d like to try, then be my guest, Mr. Sutherland.”  Malfoy stormed out. 

“So, Mr. Potter, now that Mr. Malfoy has stepped out, please tell me how you’re feeling.”

“Well, sir, everything hurts and I feel incredibly weak.”

“You may call me Nystul, Mr. Potter.  Or Suasor, if you are feeling formal. I’m not surprised you’re in pain.  Your body didn’t have time to prepare for the change you went through. The pain will ease over the next couple days, but you’re going to need a lot of rest.”

“You can call me Harry.  What does Suasor mean?”

“Teacher.  Or advocate.  You are my responsibility, since you don’t have anyone to guide you in our world.  Due to your age, I’m more like a parent than anything else.”

“I’m sorry.  If you can pick someone else, you should.”

“I could put in for a transfer, but I don’t intend to.  You’re stuck with me.” Harry took in the kindness in Nystul’s warm, brown eyes and clenched his jaw, berating himself for acting like a baby when all the man had done was promise to stick around.  He was so focused on controlling himself that he didn’t notice that Nystul had moved closer until the man pulled Harry onto his lap and held him close to his chest. 

As the dam broke and Harry started crying, Nystul whispered just loud enough for Harry to hear, “I know we don’t know each other well, yet, and that you’ve been through a lot, but you’re not alone anymore.  I’m here. I won’t allow anyone to harm you. I’m not the only one, either. Despite his odd way of showing it, I believe Mr. Malfoy has come to care about you a great deal. I’ll tell you later how I know.”

Eventually, Harry passed back into the realm of Morpheus gripping his Suasor’s shirt and sleeping soundly for the first time in a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for reading.   
> (Kind) corrections and criticisms always welcome, since I don't have a beta.  
> Kudos, comments, bookmarks, and subscriptions make me squee!  
> Just FYI, I plan to post every week to week and a half.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** I'm not JK. I make no money from this.***

The sun reflected off of the calm waters of the Gulf of Genoa much as it had on the frequent occasions that Draco Malfoy had visited this part of Italy as a child.  Back then, he ran over the beaches in swim trunks and as potent a sunblock potion as his mother could brew, screaming and laughing as the waves splashed over his body.  Now, the glint of sun off the waves felt harsh and further annoyed the already perturbed and brooding Draco. In contrast to earlier days, he sat ridgedly and sweating on the edge of a lounge chair in his standard black suit.  The chair was on one of the many terraces attached to a villa perched on the cliffs near Riomaggiore, out of sight of the muggles in the nearby town.

A fragile glass of Sciacchetra sweet wine dangled before his eyes between sure fingers attached to the dark-skinned, violet-eyed Blaise Zabini.  He watched the light bend through the viscous liquid, making it glow warm and amber. When Draco made no move to take the glass, Blaise set it on the table next to him.  

Blaise watched his best friend fume.  It wasn’t strange for Draco to appear unannounced, nor was it uncommon for him to be moody, but distracted was… disconcerting.  The famed “Malfoy Mask” had always slipped a bit when Draco was around Blaise; they’d known each other since before Draco had perfected it and old habits die hard.  He was unnerved to see Draco’s brow furrow and his eyes shift erratically while he apparently processed whatever had him in such a state.

Suddenly, the blond burst out with, “Potter’s in my house and he’s a Chiroptera.”

Laughter exploded from Blaise’s throat with ferocity that it surprised the man himself into sliding off of his chair and onto the warm tiles.  He eked out Italian in unintelligible bursts as his breath allowed until Draco kicked him.

“That is either a fantastic joke or the fates are fucking with you,” he finally managed, rubbing his shin.

“It’s no joke,” Draco intoned, clearly not amused by Blaise’s display.

“So, why haven’t you killed him?”

“Why does everyone think I’m going to try to kill Potter?”

Blaise scoffed.  “Maybe the last four years of you trying to get him expelled?  Or maybe when you tried to scare him into falling off his broom third year?  Do ‘Potter Stinks’ badges ring any bells?”

“At none of those times was I actually trying to kill him.  Pain and wounded pride are distinctly different from death.”

“You’re right, but for someone you’re not trying to kill, you’ve certainly expended a lot of energy on him.  Looks a bit obsessive to me. And if you’re not trying to kill him, then what  _ are _ you doing?”

Draco grabbed the glass of wine, downed it, and put his head in his hands.  “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

This was not the Draco he was used to dealing with.  When the house-elf came to refill Draco’s glass, Blaise sent it away with instructions to bring out the firewhiskey.  Draco accepted a glass and took a gulp without looking up.

“Are you gay?”  Blaise asked.

Grey eyes glared up at him.  “Would it matter if I was? I’ve got a legacy to think of.”

“Is that how you’re going to be?  We already know how this ends: I ask you the same question 12 times until you get tired of making up non-answers and dodging and you either answer or run away.  Can we just skip that part and you just answer me?”

Draco began to pace.  “Or I could run away, by your logic.”  

Blaise knew Draco despised being a coward, but he also knew that the man needed to hear it.  What kind of friend would he be if he didn’t speak truly to him? “No skipping to the good part, then?  Fine. Draco, are you gay?”  
“Why does this matter to you?”

“Because it matters to you, you’re my best friend, and you show up on my doorstep when you’ve got shit to deal with that you won’t face.  Draco, are you gay?”

“This is Potter we’re talking about.”

“No, Draco, it’s you.  Are you gay?”

“Are you?”

“Yes.  Draco, are you gay?”

Draco looked shocked at Blaise’s direct reply.  He took a deep breath, a drink, cringed at the burn, and signed.  “I think so.”

“Was that so hard?”

“Yes!”  He was fired up for a diatribe on why being gay was the worst possible outcome for someone in his situation when Blaise cut him off.

“No, it wasn’t.  The hard part will be getting Potter into your bed.”

Draco spluttered, “What, no.  I don’t like Potter.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence.  Finish your drink, go home, and get cleaned up.  You’ve got a potential lover trapped in your house.  Go woo him.”

“I hate you, Blaise,” Draco said, resignedly, swallowing the rest of his drink and walking to the floo.

“I hate you, too, Draco.  I’m always here if you need me.”

Draco nodded in acknowledgement, stepped into the fireplace, and was gone.

Blaise looked out over the beautiful vista and saw none of it.  His heart soared with the knowledge that Draco was interested in his own sex, but sunk at the confirmation that his heart belonged to Potter.

“Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot, to strongly, wrongly, vainly love thee still.”*  Blaise murmured at the spot where Draco had been.

 

***

 

When Draco stepped out of the fireplace into the receiving room at the manor, his mother was waiting for him.  Her face was the perfect mask, not even his accustomed eye could discern a crack in it. This had him worried. She rarely wore the mask around him, unless she was hiding panic.

“What’s wrong, Mother?”

Her voice was even and calm, “There isn’t much time.  The Dark Lord is coming.”

“What?” Now, he understood her panic.  “But, Potter…”

“Yes, child, we have to get him out.”

Before they could move, though, the fireplace flared green once again.  A black-robed leg ending in a pale, bony foot stepped out of the floo followed by the rest of the red-eyed, skeletal form of Lord Voldemort.

“Ah, wonderful, you’re already waiting for me.  Lucius told me you had a present for me.” His slash of a mouth leered for a moment before laughing.  “Take me to Potter!”

Narcissa, perfect host and wife of a Death Eater, bowed low.  Draco followed suit.

“Of course, my Lord, please follow me.”  She rose and began leading the Dark Lord out of the room.  Draco followed closely through the winding hallways, frantically trying to think of a way to divert them.  No ideas came and Draco watched woodenly as Narcissa waved her wand and the wards protecting Potter’s room fell.  He felt hollow as the door opened to reveal Potter, still bedridden, talking to an equally unprepared Nystul. Everything slowed as Draco entered the room behind the Dark Lord.  

“Harry Potter,” the Dark Lord drawled, showing teeth too sharp, “Such good fortune that we would meet again so soon after our last meeting.  And you looking so...weak.”

Potter didn’t respond, but instead turned to Draco.  At first, his gaze held betrayal, but it quickly morphed into the sort of resignation that Draco could only imagine on the face of one who had accepted their death.  Maybe it was the sadness in that gaze or the wine and whiskey from Blaise, but something cause Draco’s hand to reach over to the silver filigree covered candlestick on the boudoir.  He felt a sense of calm as the cool, heavy metal touched the palm of his hand. It felt like no effort at all to swing it wildly until the edge of it smashed into the shining curve of the Dark Lord’s skull.  The impact made his arm numb, but he didn’t stop.

As the Dark Lord fell forward, Potter launched at the gaunt and reeling man.  His wings and horns appeared midair. His claws slashed through the falling man’s gut and chest as Draco continued to bludgeon him until the head caved in and brain matter flecked out.  

A call of “Halt!” had both boys pausing and looking for the source of the command.  Nystul stood large, in full Chiroptera form with the hooks atop his burnt-orange wings brushing the ceiling.  Burning orange eyes commanded attention. “He’s dead.”

Potter chirred a question at the imposing Suasor.  Nystul carefully brushed claws through Potter’s black locks and smiled.  “No, my child, you’ve done well, but it’s untoward to play in the blood of your kills.”

Potter chirred again, contentedly this time.  His completely green eyes settled on Draco. His pointed ears twitched once before he launched at the blond, enveloping him first in his arms, then in his wings.

“Argh, Potter, let me go!” Draco squaked.  He quite objected to cuddling Potter at all, but particularly amidst bits of bone, blood, and brain.

“If you hadn’t run off,” Nystul began, laughing, “I would’ve told you that Harry’s transformation began a growth stage in his magic.  He will start seeking mates that are compatible to help him balance the power. His magic chose you.”

“Don’t I get a choice?”  Draco huffed through the wing-prison that Potter had him in.

“Certainly.  You can reject him.”

Draco opened his mouth to do so, then closed it again.  Hadn’t Blaise just forced him to admit that this was what he wanted?  When he finally opened it again, what he said was, “I do believe that I will stay.”  On hearing this, Potter pulled him impossibly closer. “But, Potter, I suggest you let me go.  I am not a cuddler.” The wings and arms loosened enough for Draco to extract himself. 

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back to himself in a bit.”  Nystul said, indicating to Potter who was sitting in a puddle of blood and playing with the shards of bone that appeared to have been ribs before they’d been extracted from their owner.  “He’s just high on the adrenaline and magic that coursed through him when he attacked. This will happen less as he gathers enough mates to balance out his power.”

Draco was about to respond when Potter jumped up and hissed, wielding a bone like a knife at the corpse.  A mist was rising up around the body and slowly formed grotesque face, almost a caricature of the Dark Lord’s face, but more terrible than he had stood before them minutes ago.  Potter’s claws swiped through the mist, but the motes were unaffected. The mouth gaped open. Word poured out, though the mouth didn’t form them.

“Young Malfoy, you’ve made a grave error this day.  Though you’ve killed this body, I am not dead. Lord Voldemort cannot be killed.  I shall come for you.”

The motes compressed into a dense speck before popping out of existence.  Draco sat hard on the ground. Potter crept close and ran bloodied claws through his hair.  He couldn’t even care enough to push the crazed Chiroptera off. He was so fucked.

  
  
  
  


*Lord Byron, “Love and Death”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 3. Lemme know what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** I'm not JK, I make no money from this. ***

Narcissa sighed at the mess of the room and picked up the candlestick.  The soft silver and filigree were warped. She traced her fingers over the new form.  She was certain that it had been quite valuable earlier that morning; everything in the manor was expensive.  Much like the candlestick, though, it seemed that her entire expensive life had warped today. Her future, just like her son, was now uncertain, covered in blood, and inextricably tied to Harry Potter.  

Draco was still sitting on the floor with an apparently intoxicated Potter trying ineffectively to comfort him.  He was really only getting them both bloodier with his pawing. 

“Boys,” she started.  “Why don’t you get cleaned up?”

“Don’t, Mother.”  Draco said, finally batting Potter away.  “Leave us alone. I have no further need for your presence.”

Narcissa froze at the coldness in her son’s eyes and voice.  “Draco, what are you talking about?”

“Father told the Dark Lord that Potter was here.  You led him here and unwarded the door.”

“We only do what we must to preserve our family.”  Narcissa pulled herself up into her most regal posture.

Draco scoffed.  “You call it preservation.  Our family has thrived by playing one side off of the other, never being caught on the losing side, never holding an allegiance to anyone, but ourselves.   Since when was it preservation to tie ourselves to a mad man?”

She could feel her demeanor changing to that of the ice queen that other accused her of being, but she couldn’t stop it.  The disgust in her son’s eyes was destroying her. 

“I have nothing further to say to you or father.”

“As you wish,” she stated and strode out of the room still clutching the battered candlestick.

 

***

 

“Come on, Potter,” Draco helped the other boy to his feet, dragged him to the bathroom, and shoved him, fully clothed, into the shower.  He cranked the tap.

“Fuck, Malfoy,” Potter yelped, clearly coming out of his daze.  “Couldn’t you make it warm?”

“Stop whining, it’ll warm up.”  He put a clean towel on the hook by shower and turned to leave.  At the door he hesitated, then turned back and whispered a spell that his mother used to use to warm his towels when he was little.  He left quickly. 

“Do you have somewhere for us to go?”  He asked the man who remained in the bedroom.

Nystul grinned, “Of course, though I daresay it won’t be up to your usual standards.”

“Will we be safe?”

“Generally, yes, though it hasn’t been tested against the kind of dangers that you two are up against.  I’d say that it’s safer than here, though.”

“It’ll have to do, then.  Make sure Potter doesn’t drown in there.  I’ll be ready to go in 30 minutes.”

 

***

 

Twenty minutes later had Nystul watching as Draco circled the room muttering and waving his wand.  The evidence of the earlier attack were all but gone when the boy summoned what appeared to be a large vat of bubbling water and started spraying it over every surface.

“What is that?”

“Tonic water,” Draco stated, not stopping in this ministrations.

“As in ‘Gin and Tonic?’”

“Yes, though a G&T with this tonic would be terribly bitter.  I’ve over concentrated the quinine in it.”

“To what end?”

“To destroy the magical properties in any blood my spells may’ve missed.  Quinine lyses blood cells. There are things in this world too small to be seen and only an idiot relies on and single method to accomplish important goals.”

Nystul observed  as he meticulously covered every surface, Nysul included, until Harry came out of the bathroom wearing only a towel.

“Malfoy, did you take my clothes?”

“I had the house elves destroy them once you discarded them.”

“Those were my only clothes.”

“I brought you some of mine.”

“I’m not going to fit in your clothes.”

“Potter, you’re a wizard.  Fix them.”

Harry clenched his jaw.  The lack of verbal response gave Draco pause.  He saw the tension in Harry’s frame. “I’ll assume no one taught you how?”

“Who would have?” Harry’s fists clenched.

“The adults in your life?  Maybe the Matron of the Weasel brood?”

Harry hissed at Draco.  Draco looked unimpressed.  “That is as nice as I can possibly stomach, Potter.  Refitting clothes is a two spell process. The first spell is  _ Metimurius _ , which is cast upon whoever the clothes need to be fit to.  Then you cast  _ Mutatio _ at the clothes so that they resize to the measurements you took with the first spell.”

Nystul was struck by how competent a teacher Draco was.  Firm and efficient in his method without coddling his pupil.  He corrected Potter’s wand movements with little fuss and no condescension.  Despite their earlier claim to being adamant adversaries, they were interacting without drama aside from the occasional sniping.  To his knowledge, a matership bond caused only mild protective tendencies, not an all over transformation in relations.

“Now, you try it,” brought Nystul back from his musings.  

Harry waved his wand, said the spells, and the clothes shifted a bit on the bed.

“Did it work?”

“Did you expect them to get up and dance?”  Draco quipped. “That’s a different spell, Potter.”

“No, I… you know a spell to make clothes dance?”

“When knowledge is available, only you can be blamed for not knowing.”

“That’s what Hermione says when doesn’t know a spell, but thinks she can look it up.”

“I am  _ not _ like that…”

“Watch it, Malfoy.”

“Like  _ her _ .” he finished.  

The rooms was cold with tension again.   _ Ah _ , Nystul thought,  _ maybe this girl was the cause of the problem between them.  Maybe she’d be a member of their covey if Harry’s power developed enough to need another mate _ .

Harry grabbed the clothes returned to the bathroom, appearing minutes later in close-fitting black trousers and a dark grey button up shift.  “I think they’re too tight.”

Draco eyed Harry appraisingly, “I understand that you’re used to wearing clothing designed for elephants, but I assure you this is how clothing is supposed to fit.”

“And what’s with the dark colors?  We’re not going to a funeral.”

Nystul thought they might be if Harry didn’t stop picking and prodding at the young aristocrat.  He could almost hear the blond’s teeth grinding. Draco opened his mouth to give what was bound to be a glorious and entirely unhelpful retort, so Nystul jumped in.  “They look good on you. Are we ready to go?”

 

***

 

The ground floor of the Manor was designed to make guests uncomfortable.  High arched hallways gave one the impression of being too small and dark alcoves incited one to believe that they were always being watched.  THe most oppressive aspect of the manor, though, was its silence. It tended toward the muffled quiet of a tomb where words died before they ever left one’s lips.  These things did not affect Lucius. As Master of the Manor, he could feel the dark, deep thrumming of the manor as easily as he could his own heartbeat. He would feels house elves scurrying about, appearing here and there to clean this or that.  He could feel Cissy moving about the parlor, likely playing the piano or Draco pacing as he waited for a potion to simmer. 

When Lucius stepped out of the floo, it was the silence the scared him.  He felt through the wards for a long moment before finding a movement, oever so slight in the master suite.  He was desperate to reach the room, but only a tight grip on his came kept him from giving in to the tremors.  Far too much time under cruciatus curse made his frame shake, but the silence, oh the silence. He could only pray to lady magic herself that what he found when he reached the room would not be corpses.

He’d been summoned to the Dark Lord at daybreak and he’d obeyed.  He had no other choice. The Dark Lord was not a lenient man and had hinted at the pleasures he’d take with Draco should Lucius ever be found wanting.  The moment he’d appeared in the field outside of Riddle Manor, he’d been cursed. The Dark Lord was angry.

“I’ve been narrowing down Potter’s location for weeks, trying to get him when he’s away from that damn, overprotected school.  I’d narrowed it down to Surrey, somewhere in the north part of the county…”

At this, the Dark Lord renewed the curse and Lucius was lost to a world that stretched no further than the end of his blistering nerves.  When the curse let up, he could follow the Dark Lord’s voice, again.

“...gine my surprise to discover that the boy was located at the home of my most  _ trusted _ follower and that follower hadn’t even bothered to notify me.”

The cruciatus was brief this time, but the pain wracking his body was a small concern, now.  Fear at the consequences to his family overrode all else.

“So, Lucius, do you have anything else you’d like to tell me?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Lucius tried to think quickly to convince the Dark Lord that his family was loyal.  “At first, we did not know it was him. He was disguised.” The Dark Lord looked incredulous. “And it took some time to subdue him…”

“Enough.  It is time that I visited your wife,” the Dark Lord hissed.  

Then his world became pain once more.  He gripped the amulet on his chest and whispered, “He’s coming.”  His last hope was that Narcissa would hear and understand before he lost consciousness.

Lucius came back to the present as the slow, uneven tapping of his cane and footsteps stopped reverberating through the wards.  He was before his bedroom door. The door creaked open beneath his palm, though he couldn’t recall it even having creaked before.  He held his breath.

On the bed was Narcissa, fully clothed as if ready to appear in the Alleys, and immobile.  His cane clattered to the floor. He rushed to the bed as quickly as his trembling legs would carry him.  He pulled her close to his chest, fearing the worst until her eyes slowly opened. They were bloodshot, evidencing that she’d been crying, but, oh sweet merlin, she was alive!

She gripped his shirt and pulled him down into a searing kiss, sensing that he needed confirmation of her.

He returned the kiss for a moment before pulling back, “Where is our son?”

“He left with Potter.”

“He’s alive, though?”

“Yes, love.”

“How?”

“Well,” she sounded disbelieving as she chuckled.  “Our son bludgeoned the Dark Lord to death with a candlestick.  Then he left. He doesn’t want to speak to us anymore. He thinks we jeopardized Potter.”  She stared at nothing for a moment before staring back at her husband and giggling. “I think he’s in love with Potter.”  

Lucius started laughing, too.  What else was left to do? His family was alive!  All because of his son. The boy could love whomever he damn well pleased for freeing him from that evil maniac.

“We will win him back, my dear.  We owe him that much.”

 

***

 

Many miles away, in Little Whinging, Surrey, Petunia Dursley wiped her hands on a dish towel before opening the door to an elderly man.  He was the same man who she blamed for her sister’s death. She tried to slam the door in his face, but he stopped it, belying more strength than his appearance would indicate he possessed.

“Now, now, Petunia, I just need to speak to Mr. Potter.  Surely, you’ll allow me that?”

She didn’t want to, but she felt compelled to allow him in.  “The boy isn’t here,” she stated, crossing her arms in the only defense she could muster.  What she wouldn’t give to have her frying pan right about now. 

“Well, where has he gone?”

“We don’t know.  Came back one day and he was nowhere to be found.  Good riddance, if you ask me. Nothing but trouble, that one.  He left all of his freakish things, too.”

“Ah, well,”  The old man seemed surprised by this knowledge.  “I’ll just take his things and bother you no further.”  He summoned all of the boy’s things and tucked them into the school trunk that floated down last.

As she watched him disappear, she couldn’t help, but be glad to see him go.  Though she’d never admit it aloud, she secretly hoped that maybe the boy had escaped him, as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I have no beta, so let me know if you find errors.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***I'm not JK. I make no money from this.***

Chickens clucked in annoyance at the sudden disruption in their little patch of yard.  Draco glared at one that he’d almost tripped over before turning his glare to the ramshackle buildings and rough-hewn wood fencing that dotted the area.  He met Nystul’s eye. The man was waiting for a snide comment. He said nothing and stepped over where Potter had fallen to follow the older man. At the edge of the yard, an old man leaning on a knobbly staff harrumphed.

“Ah, good afternoon, Master Ruadh,” Nystul greeted cheerily.  The man grumbled and led them into his shack.

When they were seated around a well-worn and splintering wood table with mismatching mugs of what might’ve been tea, the man grunted at Nystul and hobbled off.  

“This is where we are staying?” Draco spoke low, trying to avoid being overheard by the hermit.

Nystul laughed and took a swig of his tea-sludge.  “Heavens, no. I don’t think Master Ruadh’s hospitality extends that far.  Master Ruadh is a gatekeeper. At dusk, the door to the Orphic Realm will open and we’ll travel to Caligin City.”

“What’s that?” Potter asked, apparently content with his tea-swill, as well.  

“That’s the capital city of Chiroptera controlled territory.  We’ll get you registered as a Carus and then you can stay with me until your covey is ready to establish its own space.”

“That’s… very kind of you, Nystul.”

“Not a problem, kiddo,” He answered, ruffling the boy’s dark hair.

“I’ve heard you use that term before.  What exactly is a Carus?” Draco queried, moving his mug across the table, but still not drinking from it.

“Chiroptera familial units center around one very powerful individual, called a Carus.  The Carus needs mates to support him or her because magic can be difficult to control in large amounts.  The more powerful the Carus, the more mates will be needed to balance them.”

“How large are these… coveys, you called them?”

“Yes, most are between two to four, but powerful coveys can have ten or more.  They royal family has twelve. If you get to about eight, they’ll start considering they covey for a lordship.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Because it takes a lot of power to need that many mates.”

“Everything always comes back to power, doesn’t it?” Harry sighed, exasperated.  “Voldemort, Dumbledore, everyone is always trying to amass more. I don’t get it.”

“Power is everything, Potter,” Draco sneered.  “Power is protection, it’s that ability to do what you want, power is freedom.”

“Is that why you’re here, Malfoy?  You want to glom onto me like everyone else.  Get some of that power for yourself? Well, I’m not interest.”  Harry turned to Nystul. “This mate thing is stupid. I don’t have to sleep with him, do I?”

“No, mates don’t have to be sexual partners, though it does help if they can get along with each other.”

Harry snorted, “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

Nystul took a deep breath.  “Draco, could I be rude and ask you to take a walk?”

Draco thumped the grey ceramic mug on the table.  Some of the brownish not-tea splashed out. The door slammed behind him, effectively cutting him off from the two frustrating Chiropterae.  

He meandered around the farm, kicking rocks and scuffing his shoes until he came to an old and gnarled oak tree rooted into the top of a hill.  He sat in an hollow at the case of it, shaded by the think summer foliage with his knees pulled up under his chin. A warm breeze mussed his hair as he stared out over the countryside.

He thought about Potter.  That Potter was being an arse to him was no surprise.  Draco had always known that Potter was an arse. That hadn’t stopped his obsessive need to be near the damned Gryffindor.  Why couldn’t the man see that he was trying, though? Was his devotion to their schoolyard rivalry really just the tip of an iceberg of hatred?  Draco dug through long suppressed feelings to that first day on the Hogwarts Express.

He’d arrived on the platform the picture of poise and pureblood training.  His father had impressed upon him the important of upholding the Malhoy name and Hogwarts was his first opportunity to be everything that his father expected of him.  Then he saw the boy from the robe shop. He took a step towards the boy, his pulse quickening and his mask of pureblood superiority slipping away. He was surrounded by that redheaded bunch of Weasels that burrowed in under the protection of Dumbledore’s bright, voluminous robes and infested the wizarding world with their filth and prejudice.  

The form of his long time friend, Blaise Zabini, stepped into view and checked his advance.  Blaise’s violet eyes brought him back to himself. He was equal parts annoyed that his attempt to extract the scrawny boy from the Weasels was frustrated and grateful that he had been prevented from making a fool of himself.  He nodded to Blaise and they boarded the train together.

At the time, he’d felt bizarrely protective of the small, bespectacled boy on the platform with the baggy clothes and wild hair.  He hadn’t known until later, when he’d sought the boy out, that the boy was Harry Potter. On the acknowledgement of this, Draco had made a last ditch effort to rescue him from manipulative headmaster’s grasp.  His statement about not making friends with ‘the wrong sort’ wasn’t his most persuasive moment and it backfired terribly. To this day, he regretted not being more politically adept at wooing Potter away from Dumbledore’s machinations.  

Instead of allowing his mind to dwell on the mistakes of his past as it had so many times, he turned his attention to the subject of Potter himself.  It had never occurred to Draco that Potter’s size was due to anything other than genetics. It was not until he and his mother had tended to Potter’s wounds that he began to question the image he held of Potter as a pampered prince.  

_ In hindsight,  _ he chastised himself,  _ I should have put the pieces together sooner. _

He’d observed the bruises and lacerations on Potter’s emaciated body, but the calm chaos of mediwizardy had distracted him from contemplating them until later, when Potter lay asleep.  His blood rushed and his fingernails bit into the flesh of his palm as he began to understand. The wounds were not the results of Potter’s body transforming into a creature. Some of the bruises had been yellowing and many of the cuts were already crusted with scabs.  Potter had been beaten and frequently.

Draco’s hands were once again in fists.  He forced them to release. He sunk his fingers into the loamy soil.  He may not be the strongest or the bravest, but he was smart and he was going to protect Potter like he’d been denied doing years before.  After all, Potter was the only choice he had left.

 

***

 

When the screen door slammed behind Draco, Nystul growled at Harry.  Instantly, some of the boy’s features shifted to look more batlike. They’d have to work on his control, but that was a problem for a different time.  Right now, he needed to deal with his charge’s abhorrent behavior. 

Harry’s now pointed ear lay back against his head and his eyes were completely green.  He chirred, instinctively trying to calm Nystul down. Nystul growled again and forced out his own Chiroptera features, unswayed by the boy.

“You rely too much on instinct,” he said.  “Use your words.”

“Nystul watched as the boy’s wizard mind fought and won the battle for dominance.  “Why are you angry?” Harry finally managed.

“I am disappointed in your behavior towards your mate.”

“But it’s Malfoy,” Harry whined.

“I’m aware of his surname,” Nystul responded flatly. “Regardless of your prior relationship, it is important to your ability to control your power that Mr. Malfoy remain nearby.  Constant bickering and accusations form you and not conducive to that goal.”

“He starts it.”

“No.  In fact, since I’ve been here, all of his strikes have been in response to your prodding, even then, he’d held himself.  Quite admirable, if what you both indicated about your shared past is true.”

“I thought you were supposed to by my Suasor.  Why are you on his side?” Harry seemed to curl in on himself.

Nystul consciously softened his tone, acutely aware that he was dealing with a child rife with abandonment issues.  “What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t help you recognize your flaws and address them, Carus?”

Harry huffed, but didn’t respond otherwise.  Nystul took that to mean he was listening and considering.

“I’d like for you to think through some things with me.”

Harry glared, but finally nodded.

“What did Mr. Malfoy do when he realized you were injured?”

Harry continued to glare.

“Do you not know, or are you too stubborn to say?”

Harry pursed his lips, but eventually said, “He got me help.”

“Yes, he did.  And what did he do when you were in danger from that red-eyed monster of a man?”

“He was in danger, too,” Harry protested.  “He was saving his own skin.”

“Do you really believe that?” Nystul’s eyebrow raised incredulously.

“I… no.”

“So, he saved you.”

Harry nodded.

“And at great personal risk.”

Harry started to object, but Nystul stopped him, raising one pointed claw.  

“Do you remember what happened after that?”

“It’s a little hazy,” Harry admitted.

“Then let me clear it up for you.  Mr. Malfoy cuts ties with his family because they endangered you.  He left his comfortable life to traipse through realms unknown to him to support someone who has shown nothing but disdain for him.  His only question was whether I had someone where safe for you both to stay. He knowingly gave up everything to be here right now.”

The wideness of Harry’s bright green eyes and the slackness of his jaw told Nystul that his message had been received.  The young Chiroptera pushed back from the table and made for the door. When he turned back to the table, Nystul raised his misshapen mug in salute and the boy ran out the door.

 

***

 

There was no sign of Malfoy around the back of the house, by the barn with peeling red paint, or near the rusting silo.  He was about to look in the chicken coop when angry squawking and the better part of his mind pointed out that Malfoy would not be in a chicken coop.  He scanned the horizon, hoping for and idea when he spotted a shock of white-blond hair resting at the base of an old oak tree on a hill. It was curious to see the always proper boy sitting in the dirt with his chin on his knees and his hair ruffled by the breeze.  Grey eyes were open, but blank as his mind seemed occupied elsewhere. Harry approached cautiously and chirred to announce his presence. The grey eyes turned to him and waited. 

At a few meters away, he crouched low to keep his head level with Malfoy’s.  He mimicked the blond boy’s posture, sitting arm to arm with him.

“So…” Harry started.

“Save it, Potter.  Apologies are for Gryffindors.”

“ _ I’m  _ a Gryffindor.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes.  “We’ve met. I mean that I am not a Gryffindor and I don’t accept Gryffindor apologies.”

“How do Slytherins apologize?”

“They don’t.  They change their behavior.  If the intended recipient accepts the change, they will respond accordingly.”

Harry thought for a moment, then nuzzled Malfoy’s… no, Draco’s shoulder.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing, Potter?”

“Changing my behavior.  Now, you’re supposed to ‘respond accordingly.’”  He nuzzled Draco’s shoulder again.

Despite Draco’s apparent attempt to move away from Harry’s affections, his arm ended up resting on Harry’s shoulders.  The brunet smiled to himself. His apology was accepted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter should be up in 7-10 days.  
> Again, let me know if you find errors. I don't have a beta.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Depression is a bitch.

Hermione sat of the well-worn, overstuffed sofa reading.  Ron sat near her on the floor playing exploding snap with Ginny.  The sounds of their game disguised the sound of apparition, so it wasn’t until a firm, but polite rap at the door that they became aware of Albus Dumbledore’s unexpected visit.

Molly Weasley answered the door and invited the old wizard in.  In a brief moment between Molly bustling away to make tea and the Headmaster noticing his students, Hermione noticed the greyness of his skin and haggard way that his shoulders stooped.  She decided that now would be a perfect time to get a snack. She slid into the kitchen as the Headmaster glided to the head of the table, upbeat and grandfatherly facade back in place.

“Ah, Ms. Granger,” He greeted her.  “How is your summer work going?”

“I’ve already completed it, sir.  Now, I’m researching the effects of different types of dragon scales in potion making.”

“Ah, clever girl,” he patted her shoulder.  “I’m sure Severus will be pleased with your initiative.  If you ever wish to discuss the uses of dragon blood, let  me know. I discovered many of them.”

“I do, sir.  Thank you.” She was pretty sure that Professor Snape would not, in fact, be pleased with anything to do with her.

Mrs. Weasley pushed a plate of biscuits into Hermione’s hands.  “Here’s a snack. Please be a dear and take these out to the others.

Hermione nodded as she was ushered out the room, then stared at the door that had just been shut in her face.  She put the plate down on the living room floor between Ron and Ginny. Ron grabbed one and said, “Thanks,” around a mouthful, spraying crumbs and never looking away from the game.  Ginny rolled her eyes and grabbed a biscuit, too.

Hermione shook her head and went back to the door.  She tried to make out the muffled noises of conversation, but to no avail.  She was so focused on the door that she nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice near here ear whispered, “You won’t.”

She managed to stay quiet and hear a voice on her other side say, “Hear anything.”

_ Damn twins. _ She thought.

“Through that door.”

“Mum charmed it when.”

“We were little.”

“Mum and Dad always.”

“Have their,” both twins made air quotes. “Serious talks…”

“In there.”

One of the twins, she thought it was Fred, pulled out a long, flesh-colored string with a larger bit at one end and trumpet bell at the other.  He put the bell under the door and handed her the other end.

“Now, have a listen,” George said.

She put the piece in here ear and smiled at the identical gingers waiting in anticipation.  The her smile faltered.

“He’s gone, Molly,” Dumbledore’s voice rumbled low.  “I had hoped that maybe he’d come here.”

“No, Albus, we haven’t heard from him since the end of the school year.”

“And his owl hasn’t been around, either?”

“No.”  Hermione could almost hear the woman wringing her hands.

“I’ve collected his things from his aunt and uncle’s house.  I’d like for you to keep them here until he reappears.”

“Yes, Albus,” Molly said with a sad sigh.  

Hermione opened her eyes and pulled the piece out of her ear.  A twin sat on either side of her, also removing the ear pieces and rolling them up.

“Come with us,” George said, following Fred to the stairs.

Up a couple of flights and through a battered door, she found herself watching as the twins warded the door six ways from Sunday.

_ I guess when you’ve figured out how to get past as many wards as these two have, you learn to ward against like-minded intruders. _ She thought.  Their movements were practiced and in sync, down to the moment when they turned to her, identical stony frowns transforming their normally impish visages.

“Harry’s missing,” one started.

“And he didn’t come here.”

“Which means he either didn’t want to.

“Or he couldn’t.”

“Is Harry close with anyone other than you and Ron?”

Hermione wracked her brain, but ended up shaking her head.  “He has other friends, but not like us. He has Sirius, though.”

“Black?”

“The mass-murderer?”

“Yes, Sirius Black.  He’s Harry’s godfather and he didn’t kill anyone.  It was Pettigrew.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, though, Sirius is on the run.  Also, Dumbledore said he picked up Harry’s belongings. Harry wouldn’t have left without those.  When he left before third year, the lugged his trunk all the way to The Leaky Cauldron.”

“So, he was kidnapped?”

“It would appear so.”

From somewhere down below, they heard Mrs. Weasley calling them down for lunch.  The twins immediately started dismantling their wards, then they tromped down to the kitchen.  The Headmaster still sat at the end of the table, now with a heaping sandwich and crisps in front of him.  Ron and Ginny sat to either side of him. Ron waved her over to sit next to him. The twins sat across from her.

As she was picking at her sandwich, she heard Ron ask the Headmaster, “How long until Harry can come visit us?”

“It’ll have to be closer to the end of summer.  The protections on his aunt and uncle’s house make it safer for him to stay there.”

Hermione had to force herself to keep chewing.  She glanced at the twins. One made a slight indication upward and she nodded, covering it by taking another bite.  The conversation proceeded through various bits of small talk, a reminder to get their summer work done, and finally the doing of dishes before Hermione made it back up the stairs to the twins’ room.  The door swung open before she knocked.

“Monitoring spells.”

“On the landing,” the boys explained before she could ask.  

Once the rooms was warded again, they turned to her.

“He lied,” they said in unison.

“Yes,” she said slowly, trying to find a good explanation for his lie.  She really disliked losing respect for her professors. “Maybe he’s just trying to protect us.”

“He should be.”

“Worried about.”

“Protecting Harry.”

“I agree, but should we leave this up to the adults?”

The twins roared with laughter tinted with bitterness until their sides ached.

“Since when have you.”

“Ever let the adults.”

“Handle anything?”  They said between gasps.  

“Fair enough,” she said in surrender.  “So, what’s the plan?”

The twins sobered.  “We don’t know.”

“Can we track him?” One asked.

Hermione was silent for a full minute before saying, “We can’t, but maybe we can track something that  _ can _ track him.”

The twins sat on either side of her.  

“And just what.”

“Is developing in.”

“That beautiful brain?”

 

***

 

An hour later, Fred, George, and Hermione sat around a small table with a map of the British Isles, and agitated Pigwidgeon, and a letter written to Harry.

Hermione waived her wand first at the bird, “ _ Reperio _ ,” then at the map, “ _ Tabula _ .”  Pig ruffled his feathers, in apparent annoyance, but didn’t seem to be further affected.  The map now showed a small owl icon over the location of the Burrow and an inset map showing a closer view.  

“Pig, I need you to deliver this letter to Harry.  It is incredibly important.” Pig hooted in response and flew out the window.  The little owl icon began to move slowly over the map. The inset map followed the icon.

“And now, we wait,” she said as much to herself as to the twins.

 

***

 

She’d fallen asleep in her book on dragon scales, she realized, as someone shook her awake.

“Pig changed directions.”

“He was going Northeast,”

“But Harry must’ve moved.”

“He was almost to Wiltshire.”

“When he turned South.”

They took turns watching for quite a while longer until the bird stopped outside of Wimborne.

“I think that’s it.” Hermione stated, finally.  “How do we get there, though?”

The twins exchanged glances.

“What?” She intoned warily.

“How to do you feel.”

“About a little unauthorized.”

“Apparition?”

“If it’ll get Harry back, I’m in.”  She sighed.

They grinned, one of them grabbed her, and she felt the iconic feeling of being squeezed through a tube much to small for her curves.

 

***

 

Nystul had been walking out to see if Harry and Draco had made up when he heard a growl from the south edge of the property.  Immediately, his eyes zeroed in on the silhouette of Master Ruadh in full Chiroptera form looming over an indistinguishable number of people.  He bolted past where the boys were sitting together amicably to where it appeared a one man battle was about to begin. He stopped some thirty feet away.

“Halt!” He yelled.  One large, dark grey, scarred Chiroptera in full battle form and three teenage wizards with wands at the ready paused and eyed him warily.

“This thing attacked us,” one of the gingers boys stated.

“It seems you are trespassing on private property.  If that were the case, he would be perfectly within his right to attack you.”

“I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding,” a young woman with bushy brown hair said.  “You see, our friend is here somewhere and we need to see him.”

Nystul allowed a smile to grace his face.  This young woman had balls and she’d probably make a pretty good outseeker since she found his Harry so quickly.  Shame she was a wizard. “Describe your friend,” is what he ended up saying. He wanted to see where this would go.

“Well, sir,”she said, giving him a slight curtsy and, surprisingly, turning and extending the same courtesy to Master Ruadh.  “He’s my age and about my height with black hair and green eyes. He wears glasses and he has a scar on his forehead. He has a penchant for finding trouble, so it’s very important that we find him.”

An aristocratic sneer came from behind Nystul.  “That’s putting it mildly, Granger. The man literally finds trouble in his sleep.”  Nystul turned to see Draco and Harry walking up the hill behind him. “We saw you come through the like the hounds of hell were behind you and came to see if you needed assistance.”  Draco raised an eyebrow and the three wizards. “It appears you do.”

All three wizards aimed their wands at Draco.  “So,  _ you  _ kidnapped him, Malfoy.”  The girl, Granger, accused.

The blond kept his arms crossed, making a show of being no threat.  “I suppose it could be seen that way. As you can see, though, he is right here.  Not only is he unharmed, I’d say he is doing quite a bit better than he was wherever you’re people had him hidden away.”

Nystul watched their faces as the three newcomers scrutinized Harry.  

“Looking fit, mate,” one of the ginger boys said, finally.

“You’ve grown,” the other said, eyeing him appreciatively.

“Where are your glasses, Harry?  And why are you with Malfoy? And, for that matter, why are you with these two… gentlemen?  The Headmaster doesn’t know where you are. Are you going to tell him? Mrs. Weasley is worried sick.”  The Granger girl didn’t leave time to breathe, much less for Harry to answer.

Harry, though, seemed used to this.  He smiled and shook his head, taking the girl into his arms, and holding her tightly.  Only then did she stop asking questions. “Hermione, I can’t tell you about everything, right now, but I want you to know that I was not kidnapped.  I ran a into a bit of trouble at my aunt and uncle’s house and Draco helped me out after. We’ve come to an… understanding.” He released her and she moved back to stand with the twins.  “Thank you all for your concern, but I need to go with them. I won’t tell you why, but I’m safe.”

Hermione started to objected, but one of the boys stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.  “We’ll respect your decision.” He said.

“And we won’t tell anyone what we know.” The other twin finished.  

Harry looked relieved when Hermione nodded reluctantly.  She gave him a tight hug and whispered something in his ear.  He nodded, but didn’t answer. 

“Harry, it’s near sunset, we need to get going,” Nystul told him.  Harry nodded and released Hermione. 

“Don’t be a stranger, Harry.”  One of the twins said.

“Let us know if you need anything.”  The other finished with a wave. Hermione still looked reluctant, but the boys grabbed her shoulders and they were all gone with a pop.

Once the danger was apparently gone, Master Ruadh turned back into a knobbly old man and began hobbling back to the house, grumbling away as if he’d never stopped.  Nystul began a meandering stroll behind him with Harry and Draco in his wake. They followed him across the creaking floorboards of the kitchen to a heavily warded door that began to take shape as the sun touched the horizon.  When it solidified, it was stone, intricately carved with images of bats and trees. A large moon with a grotesque gargoyle face protruded from the center. Master Ruadh put hands on either side of the face and pushed. The door opened silently under his touch.  

A flight of worn stone steps curved to the right and lead into darkness below, where the air felt cool and fresh.  Torches flared to life as they passed. At the bottom was a completely stone room, empty except for two stone pillars that went from floor to ceiling.  Master Ruadh sliced his palms with his claws and placed the bloody palms on either column. A blue light blinded them for a moment before settling and revealing a window.  Nystul could see the city he knew beyond the window and he ushered the boys through. They didn’t have much time before the portal would close. 

“Welcome to Caligin City,” He said with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this without any editing. It was all I could do to post. Let me know if there are errors I need to fix.
> 
> In the next, we get to see some action between Draco and Harry. About time, isn't it?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I dislike apology notes, I think it is appropriate acknowledge that I haven't posted in a while. I wish I had an explanation, but there is no comprehensive one. The closest thing would be that I am human (unfortunately) and sometimes there will be obnoxious delays that are in my control and yet I fail to overcome. So... sorry for that.

The portal behind hissed before snapping closed. It took a moment for Harry’s eyes to adjust from the blue light of the portal to the dusk light of the place they came through to. He was just thinking that he liked this method of travel far better than those of the wizarding world since it neither made him vomit nor deposited him in a heap on the ground when he tripped over a cobblestone. The only thing that kept him from the ground was that he fell into Draco, who righted his smaller body with a snort and shake of his head, but made no comment.

  
The cobblestones, uneven and well-worn, were the floor of a raised platform that was topped by pillars matching the ones they’d just travelled through. Other platforms of different heights with columns made from different materials were scattered around the open air plaza about the size of a Quidditch pitch. A high wall of dark stone enclosed the plaza; the designs etched into the stone were eroded by their time in the weather. Wrought-iron gates broke up the wall in places. Beyond the wall were near-black, gothic buildings with impossibly tall spires that looked like stalagmites. Rich hued stained glass filled the windows of the lower levels of the buildings and glowed like gemstones as the lights behind them began flaring to life.

  
As they descended from their platform, a full-form Chiroptera soldier, all bulging muscles and steel blue accenting approached. He stood almost 8 feet tall with another foot added on between the top of his horns and the hooks on his wings, which were shuttered, but not contracted into his back. His eyes glowed the same steel blue as the horns that protruded through unruly white hair. Plate armor dully gleamed. It was obvious, despite careful buffing, that the armor was not for show. Harry felt more than saw Draco stiffen when the soldier flashed a pointed-tooth smile at them.

“Sutherland? And charge?” The soldier’s voice was gravelly and low.

  
“Ah, yes, there’s been a change,” Sutherland began. “Turns out my charge has already accepted a mate. He’s joining us.”

  
“Seems a bit young for that,” the soldier said, quirking one white eyebrow at Harry. “Never pick up the simple ones, do you, Nystul?” The soldier said, marking something in a notebook that had appeared from under his breastplate and disappeared there a moment later.

  
“Slow mice make for a fat cat and I have to keep up with Miri and Alsa. Speaking of fat cats, Canmar, who did you piss off to end up on portal guard?”

  
“No one. I’m on vacation.” A twitch near Canmar’s eye and Nystul’s scoff made Harry certain that the soldier was lying. Before anyone could call out the lie, though, a rumbling began beneath their feet.

  
The levity dropped from Canmar’s face and he growled, “Out now!”

  
It was too late, though. On one end of the plaza, a platform exploded into a fiery red portal three stories tall. Though the portal distorted the view, Harry could see a volcano erupting and a lake with waves of fire and he wondered if a doorway to Hell itself has opened. A company of creatures poured through the hole. Some galloped through like horses, others had many limbs and moved like insects, and still others appeared to have no limbs at all and moved like snakes. Regardless of their diverse shapes and sizes, though, all had piercing red eyes in various numbers, and were covered in charred metal.

  
“Damn Ignisari,” Nystul hissed as he took on his full Chiroptera form.

  
He took a step forward, but Canmar stopped him.

  
“Get them out, friend.” The blue eyed giant winked, unsheathed a two-handed sword, spread his wings and jumped into the fray. Harry was frozen to the spot, watching as Canmar artfully hacked, slashed, and spitted every red creature he came near, never stopping from one creature to the next. He only moved once Nystul swept him and Draco up and bolted for the nearest iron gate. When they reached it, though, none of the small crowd was getting through.

  
Harry noticed the light shimmer of a barrier arching up from just inside the gate into a dome overhead preventing their escape. Though members of the crowd were slashing at it with their claws and blasting it with spells, the barrier was unaffected.

  
“We’re all going to die!” a woman in the crowd wailed. Panic was beginning to overtake them.

  
“No,” Harry heard his own voice. “We are not.” Draco was looking at him like he was mad. Harry, somewhat used to being thought crazy, ignored him and spoke again. “If you are too weak to fight, then hide in the buildings, but if you are strong, then fight!” Harry turned on his heel and began walking towards the battle waging behind them.

  
Draco caught up and pulled him to a stop. “What are you doing?” He whispered tersely.

  
“I’m going to battle. You don’t have to, but I prefer not to leave something like this to fate. If I’m going to die, it’ll be because of my own choices.” Harry started walking again, taking note that a handful of others were following him.  
“Goddamned Gryffindor!” Draco shouted at sky, but began walking next to Harry.

  
“Attack from a distance. Try to keep to cover. None of us are trained soldiers and we don’t have armor,” he heard Nystul say to the group. He wass pleased that the man didn’t try to stop him.

* * *

There’s no telling how long the fighting has been going on, but Draco was beginning to tire. It seemed that no matter how many creatures the Chiroptera soldiers killed, there were more to kill. He’d lost sight of Harry some time ago, but a reassuring thrum in his core made him feel that Harry was unharmed wherever he was. He didn’t know whether this was a real feeling or his own mental state crumbling from the shock of battle, but he was inclined to trust it because on some level he was a pragmatist. Nothing could be done to prove it one way or another, so he would believe what he wanted.

  
Something had to be done about that portal, though. There had to be a way to close it, he thought. He edged around the plaza, analyzing the looming oval from it’s fiery, jagged edges to the way the surface rippled. As he approached the side of it, he could almost make out thin strings of fire attached to something on the ground. He crept closer.

  
The fire cords were attached to red glass-looking balls that were imbedded in the ground, it seemed. Under a quick notice-me-not, he managed to get near enough to one to see that there was a small flame inside the ball. He put a hand near it, but stopped several inches away. The damn thing was hot! He tried an aguamenti, but the water simply evaporated. An expulso destroyed the cobblestones around the ball, but the ball remained untouched.

  
An explosion rang out from the middle of the battle and white light threw him onto his back.

* * *

Harry was crouched behind the charred remains of a two mouthed creature that had singed his arm with a fireball before Harry had sliced his head off. Though Harry didn’t know any battle curses, it seemed his magic was more than happy to take his intent for a spell and follow the direction of his wand. He could feel his power singing through his body and he laughed, feeling lightheaded at its magnitude.

  
He’d killed a number of these things. Ignisari he thought he remembered Nystul calling them. But, his power didn’t seem to be waning. On the contrary, it seemed to grow with each kill.

  
As he surveyed the battlefield, a flash of blue and white caught his eye. He focused in to see Canmar fighting off two Ignisari that were nearly his size. A third circled around and, before Harry could call out, swiped at the soldier, taking his legs out from under him. Canmar disappeared beneath his attackers and Harry screamed. His magic spiralled out of control in white flames, his only thought: destroy the Ignisari. Then he blacked out.

* * *

The world around Draco was silent as he got to his feet. He was among the first up after the blast. Then the sound rushed back in. There was screams from the dying, snarls from the fresh batch of Ignisari that was coming through the portal, and the roar of flames.

  
He crept back to red glass balls, intent on trying to break them again, but the balls were no more. Whatever that blast had been, it had accomplished what he couldn’t. Red shards surrounded tiny fires with the flaming cords still stretching up to the portal. He crushed the flames under the heel of his boot and watched the cord snap up to the portal’s edge. The edge fluttered a bit, without the anchor to keep it in place. With renewed enthusiasm, he started smothering all of the flames until halfway through the portal buckled and imploded, showering the plaza with sparks that fizzled into ash before they hit the ground.

  
It was then that he realized the pulsing in his core was gone. He couldn’t feel Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I was going to be writing an romance chapter and I ended up with a battle. Huh.


End file.
